I don't want no
brothers.'
'But you must have them,' replied the passenger, also descending,
'whether you like it or not. I am your brother.'
' I say!' expostulated the driver, becoming more chafed in temper,
'not too fur! The worm WILL, when--'
But here, Mr. Crisparkle interposed, remonstrating aside, in a
friendly voice: 'Joe, Joe, Joe! don't forget yourself, Joe, my
good fellow!' and then, when Joe peaceably touched his hat,
accosting the passenger with: 'Mr. Honeythunder?'
'That is my name, sir.'
'My name is Crisparkle.'
'Reverend Mr. Septimus? Glad to see you, sir. Neville and Helena
are inside. Having a little succumbed of late, under the pressure
of my public labours, I thought I would take a mouthful of fresh
air, and come down with them, and return at night. So you are the
Reverend Mr. Septimus, are you?' surveying him on the whole with
disappointment, and twisting a double eyeglass by its ribbon, as if
he were roasting it, but not otherwise using it. 'Hah! I expected
to see you older, sir.'
'I hope you will,' was the good-humoured reply.
'Eh?' demanded Mr. Honeythunder.
'Only a poor little joke. Not worth repeating.'
'Joke? Ay; I never see a joke,' Mr. Honeythunder frowningly
retorted. 'A joke is wasted upon me, sir. Where are they? Helena
and Neville, come here! Mr. Crisparkle has come down to meet you.'
An unusually handsome lithe young fellow, and an unusually handsome
lithe girl; much alike; both very dark, and very rich in colour;
she of almost the gipsy type; something untamed about them both; a
certain air upon them of hunter and huntress; yet withal a certain
air of being the objects of the chase, rather than the followers.
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